


July 2018

by babybrotherdean



Series: 365 challenge: 2018 [7]
Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester, Demon Dean Winchester, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-14 16:27:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 13,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15392772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybrotherdean/pseuds/babybrotherdean
Summary: Collection of 365 challenge ficlets for the month of July.





	1. One-Hundred Eighty-Two: Bedtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s very, very far past Dean’s bedtime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny fluffy thing with small boys.
> 
> (Forgive the flood of notifications while I upload all 22 fics that are here so far. I'm very behind.)

It’s very, very far past Dean’s bedtime. He can’t sleep, though, and that’s what pulls him out of bed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and toddling his way out of his bedroom. Usually, on nights like this, he finds his way to his parents’ room and crawls into bed with them, but that’s not where his feet take him tonight. Instead, he turns towards Sammy’s nursery.

The door is closed when he reaches it, and he’s real careful to open it quietly. Sammy gets pretty cranky when he wakes up, and Dean doesn’t want to get in trouble. That’s not enough to stop him from slipping inside, though, tip-toeing all the way to Sammy’s crib and curling his fingers in the bars to get a closer look.

As expected, his little brother is asleep. He’s always extra cute like this, Dean thinks, because he can’t cry or poop or leave his drool all over stuff (a thought which is quickly taken back when Dean sees the state of Sammy’s blankie). In any case, Dean just follows along with what his sleepy brain wants him to do- and right now, that entails climbing up into Sammy’s crib to join him.

It’s a little sloppy, and he’s worried for a moment that he’ll fall in and hurt Sammy, but everything turns out just fine and he manages to get himself inside without incident. From there, it’s easy to just lie right down beside his little brother, smiling when Sammy gurgles in his sleep. Yeah, definitely cutest like this.

“Night, Sammy,” Dean whispers. He’s still tired, and he came all the way here, after all, and he figures he still needs to get some sleep. Besides, Sammy seems happy with it, curling close to Dean and making a soft baby sound that warms Dean’s chest.

It’s easier to fall asleep with somebody else in the room, anyways.

(He only feels a little bit guilty when he’s met with confused and worried parents in the morning. They seem to think it’s pretty cute, though, so he figures it’s okay.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	2. One-Hundred Eighty-Three: Walking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sammy’s no good at walking yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another thing with tiny and soft boys.

Sammy’s no good at walking yet. Mama says it’s ‘cause he’s just little, and that it takes a little while for babies to figure out how to stand up, but Dean’s still worried. He’s pretty sure he’s always known how to walk- like, mostly pretty sure- and he wants to make sure that Sammy isn’t missing out on anything important.

“Ready?” He’s got Sammy’s hands in his, and he’s already standing, and he watches his little brother blink at him and then giggle. It’s enough to satisfy Dean, so he nods once before tugging Sammy up towards him. He’s pretty light, since he’s so small, but all that happens is Dean ends up with his arms full of confused baby brother, and he’s gotta hug Sammy real tight to keep him upright. “Sammy!”

Sammy giggles again, limp in Dean’s arms, and Dean thinks maybe his brother doesn’t know exactly what he’s supposed to be doing.

“Dean?” Daddy steps into the living room, then, and he sounds like he’s trying not to laugh. “What’re you up to, buddy?”

Dean pokes his tongue out in concentration as he plops back down, Sammy settling in his lap and seeming entirely content to stay there. “Sammy’s gotta learn how to walk.”

“He’ll get there.” Daddy crosses the room to sit down on the floor in front of Dean, and he’s smiling all soft. “You have to give him time. You didn’t know how to walk when you were this little, either.”

Dean furrows his brow. No way. “That’s why I gotta teach him. So he knows!”

Sammy snuggles closer to him, and he curls one of his hands tight around Dean’s thumb. Dean looks down at him, and Sammy seems like he’s just about ready to take a nap.

“How about you take a little break?” Daddy offers. “Seems like Sammy’s all tuckered out. And you can teach him after, okay?”

After a moment of consideration, Dean nods. He’s kinda tired, anyways. “'Kay. Just a little break.”

Daddy grins, then scoops them both up to go settle on the couch. Before Dean knows it, his eyelids are heavy, and- and maybe it’d be okay if he took a little nap. He’s gotta be alert to make sure Sammy learns.

Sammy stays close to him as he drifts off. Maybe he’s not so good at walking just yet, but he’s pretty good at cuddling, and Dean thinks that’s nice, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	3. One-Hundred Eighty-Four: Hunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The man doesn’t look like he belongs in a place like this, leather jacket and scruffy salt and pepper beard placing him in a biker gang before a coffee shop. He exudes confidence, too, and maybe that’s what’s got Jensen’s eyes glued to him, the words stolen right out of his mouth as he tries to take it all in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to the vampire AU. We've got a new visitor :O

It’s nice to finally get out again after spending so much time cooped up at home. Jensen’s properly healed up now, and though he’s still uneasy about leaving the safety of the house, he’s at ease knowing that Jared is by his side. Jared hasn’t stopped hovering since the hospital, and Jensen’s grateful for it now; though it’s late in the evening and the little café they’re settled in is only sparsely populated, he doesn’t much like being around strangers.

“You okay?” Jared asks him for the dozenth time since they’ve arrived, and Jensen nods. He’s letting his eyes wander, fingers curled loosely around a cup of tea as he scouts out the other patrons from the little corner table they’ve grabbed themselves. He’s always liked people-watching, though there’s a hint of nerves in the habit now; he’s keeping an eye out for anybody who might pose a threat, as if Jared doesn’t do that for the both of them. “We can go home, if you want.”

Jensen’s about to respond- to say that yeah, that sounds good, actually, and he’d much rather be home than here- when the little bell over the door rings, signalling somebody new coming inside. Jensen looks, and then he stares.

The man doesn’t look like he belongs in a place like this, leather jacket and scruffy salt and pepper beard placing him in a biker gang before a coffee shop. He exudes confidence, too, and maybe that’s what’s got Jensen’s eyes glued to him, the words stolen right out of his mouth as he tries to take it all in.

This becomes substantially harder when the man meets his eyes, smiles, and starts towards them.

“Evenin’, fellas,” the man says, but his eyes are all for Jensen, and Jensen feels rooted to the spot. Oddly enough, it reminds him of when he first learned Jared’s true nature. He’s looking at a predator. “Mind if I ask a couple quick questions?”

It’s the last thing Jensen expects to hear, and Jared answers before he’s able. “What about? And who are you?”

“You can call me Agent Morgan. FBI.” And then he’s pulling out a badge, serious as a heart attack, and Jensen- Jensen doesn’t know what to make of any of this. What the hell is the FBI doing here? “Couple weird deaths happened, not far from here. You heard anything about that?”

Jensen goes still, because he knows exactly what Agent Morgan is referring to. Three bodies, completely drained of blood. “I- um-”

“‘Fraid not.” Jared steps in, and with the tone of his voice- Jensen looks towards him and sees a completely smooth expression. He’s always had a good poker face. “You sure you shouldn’t be asking the police about this one, Agent?”

Silence for a few seconds, and then the man straightens up again, reaching into his pocket. “Maybe. Maybe not. I like to talk to locals, get the inside scoop.” He produces a business card and offers it to Jensen, who takes it uncertainly. “You think of anything, feel free to give me a call. Or just… feel free to give me a call. Leads or not.”

He turns and saunters back to the door before they can react to that, and Jensen’s left gaping. He doesn’t know what to make of everything that just happened, nearly forgetting about the main problem at hand until Jared speaks up.

“We need to go home.” He’s already standing, and he tugs Jensen to his feet, gentle. When Jensen tears his eyes away from the business card- Agent Jeffery Dean Morgan, FBI, with a phone number as promised- he notices the expression Jared’s wearing has turned to one that’s almost scary. Caught somewhere between the anger he remembers from the hospital and something that’s closer to concern. “Now.”

Jensen decides not to ask any questions while they’re still in public. It’s easy to just let Jared lead him out, absently tucking the card into his pocket because he’s not sure what else to do with it. No harm holding onto the thing, right?

Jared doesn’t speak again until they’ve reached the car, something they’ve been using more often since the start of Jensen’s recovery. Jensen’s getting himself buckled into the passenger’s seat when his boyfriend breaks the silence. “We might need to skip town.”

It’s the last thing Jensen expects to hear. “You- what? Why? Because of the FBI guy?”

“He’s not FBI.” When Jensen looks over, Jared’s got a faint smile on his face, eyes stuck on the steering wheel. His expression speaks of a thousand untold stories, and Jensen wonders just how much he doesn’t know about the most important person in his life. “He’s a hunter.”

Jared starts the car, and they start to head home as Jared continues to speak, just quiet. Explains what that means without looking at Jensen, serious as a heart attack.

Jensen has never been scared for Jared before. He doesn’t like it one bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	4. One-Hundred Eighty-Five: Fourth of July

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even underground, it’s hard to miss the faint sound of fireworks going off in the town nearby. Dean listens with one ear and a faint smile on his face, a beer held loosely between his fingers. They don’t have much of a celebration planned for themselves this year, but it’s still nice to know that other people are having fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory Fourth of July thing.

Even underground, it’s hard to miss the faint sound of fireworks going off in the town nearby. Dean listens with one ear and a faint smile on his face, a beer held loosely between his fingers. They don’t have much of a celebration planned for themselves this year, but it’s still nice to know that other people are having fun.

Sam sits opposite him at the table, and his expression matches Dean’s. They’ve got some fond memories of the Fourth, and- hell. Memories are all they can focus on, when things get bad.

“You know,” Dean says absently, glancing from his brother up towards the door, “we could probably see ‘em if we head up onto the hill.”

The smile on Sam’s face says he likes that idea just fine, so the two of them pull their boots on and head out.

The sun has already set, and sure enough, when they get to the top of the little hill that hides the bunker from the world- yeah. Yeah, they’ve got one hell of a view of the fireworks going off a few miles away. Brilliant bursts of red, white, and blue, just like when they were kids.

The two of them sit down together, right there in the grass, each still holding their beer as they settle down. They don’t speak, content to just watch the show with their knees brushing together and the night sky overhead. It’s a good one, too; clear and full of stars. Perfect.

“Maybe we can do our own next year,” Sam says, absent. Dean looks towards him and watches the way the distant fireworks illuminate his features. “For old time’s sake.”

Dean shifts minutely until he’s properly resting against his brother’s side, lifting an arm to curl around Sam’s shoulders. Sam doesn’t fit there quite as well as he used to, but it still feels right. Like they’re always meant to be this way, no matter how much they grow or what they might go through.

“Yeah,” Dean says, and he’s smiling again. “I’d like that.”

They stay out until the fireworks are over, and then a little longer after that. Today has always held a special meaning for them, and Dean doesn’t see any sense in cutting it short.

Besides, it’s nice to just take a moment and breathe every now and again. He thinks they’ve earned it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	5. One-Hundred Eighty-Six: Thunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today is exactly the kind of day that’s meant to be spent inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brothers.

Today is exactly the kind of day that’s meant to be spent inside. Heavy rain pounds down on the roof overhead, a break in the heatwave they’ve been experiencing over the last several days. Thunder rumbles in the distance, and occasionally, a flash of lightning peeks through the curtains, lighting the room for tiny, fleeting moments. It’s cooled off considerably since the storm began, and lucky enough for Dean and his little brother, it’s the perfect weather to cuddle under a nest of blankets.

The power has been flickering on and off for the last hour, so they’ve given up on the TV in favour of curling up with a couple books. Sam likes reading more than Dean does, but what he likes the most is when Dean reads out loud to him, so that’s exactly what Dean does. He’s got his brother tucked up against his side, the blankets keeping them warm in their pyjamas, and a little flashlight propped up on the headboard so he can see.

“Dean?” Sam interrupts him in the middle of a sentence- Harry’s about to go investigate the weird sounds in the lavatory with his two best friends; there’s a thunderstorm in this story, too- and Dean pauses, looking towards him. “Do you get scared of thunder?”

Dean’s first instinct is to shake his head- of course not, Sammy- but he pauses, seeing the look on his brother’s face. “I used to,” he says, softer. “When I was little.”

Sam makes a small sound at that. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Dean nods, and he pulls Sam closer to him, setting the book down in his lap for a moment. “It’s loud. And the lightning is scary, too, and I always wanted to hide. But… but Mama taught me it couldn’t hurt me. And she’d hug me really tight and sing sometimes, too.”

The memories are hazy, at best. It’s been so long now that they might not be memories at all; it’s hard to tell sometimes where his dreams end and reality begins. But still…

“So I stopped being scared.” Dean rests his cheek on his brother’s head. “Are you scared of it?”

Sam seems to consider that for a moment before shaking his head adamantly. “I got you to keep me safe,” he says earnestly, and Dean lets out a soft breath. “Right?”

“Yeah.” Dean nods and presses a tiny kiss to the top of Sam’s head. “That’s right.”

He picks up the book to continue the story as the storm rumbles on outside. These days, it’s a comforting soundscape, and one that makes it easy to drift off right before the end of the chapter.

Everything is a little less scary when you don’t have to face it alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	6. One-Hundred Eighty-Seven: In My Time of Dying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam tries several times to convince himself that this is a horrible, terrifying dream. The worst nightmare his brain could’ve possibly put in front of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small thing for one of my very favourite episodes, because it was on my dash and it made me sad.

Sam tries several times to convince himself that this is a horrible, terrifying dream. The worst nightmare his brain could’ve possibly put in front of him. The crash, the rush to the hospital, the doctor who’d told him there was nothing they could do for his big brother-

Dean’s in front of him now, looking small and pale where he lies in the hospital bed. A machine helps him breathe and several others monitor his vitals, and Sam wishes, one more time, that he would finally wake up.

“Dean,” he says in a small voice, and his brother doesn’t move. He’s not dead- not yet- but he’s quiet and still and when Sam reaches out and takes his hand, Dean doesn’t squeeze back. “Dean, you- you gotta get through this. Okay?”

The doctor says that Dean can probably hear him right now, even though he’s unconscious, so Sam clings to that. Pretends like his heart isn’t collapsing in on itself for every second that Dean spends in this coma. Dad doesn’t care, and he’s not doing anything to help, and it’s all too much. “I, um- I need you here, okay? I just…”

He trails off when his throat closes up, because he’s four years old al over again and for the first time in his life, his amazing, perfect big brother is no longer indestructible.

And right now, twenty-three and alone, Sam doesn’t think he can cope with that.

“Please,” he whispers once more, and he tightens his grip on Dean’s hand like it’ll do him any good. “I… please.”

Dean doesn’t stir. It’s going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	7. One-Hundred Eighty-Eight: Kindergarten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Got your lunch?” Dean checks for probably the hundredth time that morning. Sam, to his credit, just nods dutifully instead of complaining, flashing him a big smile. “And your book?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny brothers!

“Got your lunch?” Dean checks for probably the hundredth time that morning. Sam, to his credit, just nods dutifully instead of complaining, flashing him a big smile. “And your book?”

“Yeah!” Sam nods once more. They’re standing outside the elementary school while the other kids have already started to file inside. It’s Sam’s first day of kindergarten, and Dad’s already said his goodbyes, but Dean is still nervous. He doesn’t like the idea of his little brother being on his own like this for so long, even if they’ll be in the same building, just down the hall from one another. “All set!”

Dean huffs our a quiet breath and wonders, once again, if he would be able to convince the teachers to let him stay in his brother’s class. He wouldn’t mind repeating kindergarten if it meant they could stay together. “I won’t be far, okay? So if you need anything, you just come find me.”

Sam doesn’t seem worried at all. Though he clings to Dean’s hand like usual, he’s beaming, bouncing in place as he throws glances towards the school. He already loves to learn, and he’s been looking forward to his first day of school for months. Dean had been upset about that at first, but he’s since gotten over it. “‘Kay. Time to go?”

He can’t put this off any longer, it seems. Dean sighs and nods, then turns to walk his brother towards where the other kindergarteners are gathering. “Be careful, okay? And- and if anybody says anything mean to you, tell me and I’ll take care of it. And make sure you eat all your lunch, and try to make friends, and- and I love you a bunch. Okay?”

They stop outside the doors just in time for Sam to give him a tight hug. Dean doesn’t hesitate to hold him just as tight. “Love you, De,” he hums before pulling away. “Bye-bye!”

With that, he hurries off to meet his teacher. Dean watches him go with a bittersweet feeling, knowing that his brother will have a good day and that they’ll be back together in a matter of hours.

He can do this. For Sammy’s sake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	8. One-Hundred Eighty-Nine: Similar Features

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, when Sam squints, he can almost pretend that Jessica doesn’t look just like his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some pining!Sam and Stanford stuff.

Sometimes, when Sam squints, he can almost pretend that Jessica doesn’t look just like his brother.

It’s something he didn’t notice until they started dating. Sure, there had been the small similarities- the pair of them share a birthday and a sense of humour, but those things are easy to brush off- but with every moment spent together, it was as if more and more overlaps crawled out of the woodwork. Their taste in food. Their taste in music. The way they smiled; that one had thrown Sam for one hell of a loop. It’s impossible to ignore, and he thinks he’s going crazy, like maybe he just misses Dean so much that he’s seeing things that aren’t there. Projecting, maybe.

Her lips are soft like Dean’s, too, and those are the thoughts that he tries to avoid most of all.

“Sam?” she asks him one night, soft and worried, and Sam realizes that he’s managed to zone out for a few minutes. They’re in bed together, just resting, and he’s got a book in his lap, having read the same sentence a hundred times in a row without absorbing any of the words. “Are you okay?”

Sam blinks and tears his eyes away from the pages, meeting Jessica’s concerned look. Her eyes are almost exactly the same colour, too, and he feels like he’s going to explode. He must be making this up. What are the chances, otherwise? “I, uh-”

“You just seem distant.” She lifts a hand to cup his cheek, and Sam lets out a small breath. Dean’s hands have always been calloused and rough. Jessica’s are anything but. “Something on your mind?”

Sam watches her for a few seconds and counts the handful of freckles on her nose. They’ll fade by the time December rolls around. That’s another thing they don’t have in common. “You, um…” He swallows hard. “You just remind me of someone I used to know.”

He tries so damn hard not to see his brother in the way she kisses his forehead, but he goes to sleep that night struggling to draw a line between the two of them. Between the girl he loves and the boy who could never, ever love him back.

Surely, he can manage that much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	9. One-Hundred Ninety: Stronger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Come on, just like that,” Dean murmurs, and he feels entirely too much like a kid again; nine years old and trying to coax his little brother into eating his broccoli. It’s good for you, he’d said back then, and the words come to his lips again now, unbidden. “It’ll make you stronger. You trust me, don’t you, Sammy?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some demon!Dean and some blood-drinking.

“Come on, just like that,” Dean murmurs, and he feels entirely too much like a kid again; nine years old and trying to coax his little brother into eating his broccoli. It’s good for you, he’d said back then, and the words come to his lips again now, unbidden. “It’ll make you stronger. You trust me, don’t you, Sammy?”

Sam’s on his knees, and he looks so damn pretty like this, eyes blown wide and lips parted. Dean’s already bleeding, the knife discarded carelessly, and he can see the hunger in his brother’s eyes. He grins. “You don’t need to be good. This is what you want, right? It makes you feel good?”

He knows he’s right because Sam swallows hard, and he’s shaking, too. It’s been a long damn time since he’s gotten a fix of demon blood, and Dean finds himself wondering why they put it off in the first place. Everything feels a lot easier to understand when his head is so clear of other distractions; what’s the harm in giving Sam a taste of what he wants? Giving him what his body has craved for so long?

“I want you to feel good,” he coos, and Sam’s breath hitches. “C'mon, kiddo. Have a taste.”

That’s all it takes, and suddenly Sam is on him, fingers closing in a vice around Dean’s wrist, and his mouth finds the cut with surprising speed. Just like that, he’s drinking, teeth pressing a little too close to be entirely by accident and Dean hums low, closes his eyes for a moment. Yeah. This is perfect.

“Good boy,” he breathes out, and his free hand goes into Sam’s hair, absent. Affectionate. He’s still retained those parts, the ones that want to be touching Sam in every way at all times. He figures they’re a pretty fundamental part of his existence, and he’s just fine with that. “Drink up.”

Sam’s already long gone, and Dean decides to leave him alone. He strokes his fingers through his brother’s hair and watches as he drinks, red already dripping down his chin like he’s a rabid animal, and it turns Dean on more than it has any right to.

That, he thinks, he can deal with later. For now- for now, he can focus on what Sam needs, and what Sam needs is his fix.

Dean is more than happy to provide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	10. One-Hundred Ninety-One: Golden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is still not used to the new colour of his brother’s eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boyking!Sam and consort!Dean. I was reading Captive Prince and this is where it led me, for some reason.

Dean is still not used to the new colour of his brother’s eyes. They glint gold in the firelight, distinctly inhuman in the cool, calculating way he assesses his kingdom of sulphur and brimstone.

They aren’t like that when he looks at Dean, though. Even now. Even after everything that’s changed.

Sam sits upon a throne of obsidian, and his touch comes gently, tenderly, a hand cradling Dean’s cheek. Dean kneels at his side because this is his place, now; one he’s earned after a lifetime of devotion. He does not hesitate to press into the affection, because he knows that nobody else will ever have this. Nobody will ever be afforded the same privileges as the Boy King’s big brother.

“Just a little longer,” Sam murmurs, and Dean pays no mind to the demons who occupy the rest of the courtroom. They need Sam’s attention, but none of them are terribly important to him. Dean knows this because Sam has told him. “And then we can go to the bedroom. Alright?”

Dean hums and closes his eyes, feeling Sam’s fingers slip into his hair for a moment. It’s a comfort, and one he’s grown to crave since this all began. “Alright,” he murmurs, and Sam’s hand stays right where it is. “Thanks, Sammy.”

He can hear Sam’s smile in his voice. “Good boy.”

Dean gets himself good and comfortable, waiting quietly while Sam finishes with matters of the court. This isn’t the life he ever thought he would have- not one he ever thought they would have; the two of them together since the start- but admittedly, he’s grown used to it. There’s something soothing about having a place, and Sam wears his power well. He always seems to know exactly what Dean needs, too, and Dean is grateful for that. He’s grateful for a great many things, these days.

Sam scratches gently at his scalp while he speaks to the demon in front of him, and Dean rests his cheek against the arm of the throne. He’s content to stay right where he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	11. One-Hundred Ninety-Two: Affection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam gets especially affectionate when he’s sleepy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soft and cuddly brothers.

Sam gets especially affectionate when he’s sleepy. It annoyed Dean, sometimes, when they were younger- he had a tendency to get cranky when he was tired, and the last thing he wanted was a needy little brother keeping him from his rest- but these days, he’s learned to cherish it. They still share a bed, most nights, and Sam’s still just the right size to fit tucked into Dean’s side, cozy and safe.

Tonight, Dad’s fallen asleep early, snoring quietly in the bed next to them. Dean’s got his eyes closed, but he’s not sleeping yet; he knows that Sam is still awake, because Sam’s lips are pressed to his skin as his brother mumbles little compliments and promises.

“Love you.”

And Dean can’t fault him for that. Not with the little fingers curled tight in his shirt, or the way Sam’s arms and legs always tangle around him, like the limbs of an especially tactile octopus. The kisses have been a part of this since Sam was small, but they’ve taken on a new meaning in recent years; one that used to make Dean feel guilty. Now, he just lets himself enjoy it, smiling faintly as Sam’s lips make their way upwards, towards the hinge of his jaw.

“Love you a lot,” Sam mumbles this time, and Dean hums quietly in response. Sam doesn’t usually need much feedback, content with Dean’s hand firm on his back and the warmth of his very presence. “Forever n’ ever.”

When he travels up higher, hesitating only a short moment before pressing a kiss to the corner of Dean’s mouth, Dean’s smile grows. Yeah. This part, he’s definitely grown to like.

“Love you, too,” he whispers back, and he’s rewarded with a proper kiss, chaste and lingering. Only when Sam pulls away does Dean speak again. “Time to sleep, kiddo?”

Sam yawns on cue and snuggles closer. He gets his head tucked up under Dean’s chin and falls quiet, always quick to drift off once he puts himself down. One of a million endearing qualities.

Dean keeps his arms tight around his brother and thinks about the little tingles left over from Sam’s lips. This, he thinks, is the absolute opposite of an annoyance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	12. One-Hundred Ninety-Three: Frantic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary is entirely calm, watching him fumble with the car keys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little thing with John and Mary and. !!!

John is frantic. He can’t remember ever feeling this rushed in his life; every second feels like it stretches out too long, like he should be doing more, doing something to make things happen. Staying collected; they’ve practised this. Talked about it, their plan.

Mary is entirely calm, watching him fumble with the car keys.

“It’s alright,” she insists, as if she’s not about to burst. Her hands rest on her belly, and she sits on the couch, waiting for John to get ready. Her water has broken, and they need to get to the hospital. “John- John. Don’t panic, sweetheart.”

John’s trying his very best not to. Wallet, keys, shoes. Once he’s got everything he needs, he returns to Mary, his touch gentling as he helps her stand. “Are you feeling alright? Are you in pain? How far along-?”

“I’ll make it to the hospital.” About this, she seems fairly confident. John isn’t entirely convinced until she gives him a stern look. “Let’s go. Just trust me, okay?”

So he takes a deep breath and wraps his arm around his wife to help her stand, turning so they can make their way out the front door. He can feel his heart racing in his chest, excitement and nerves all balled up together, and he needs to consciously slow his breathing before he allows himself behind the wheel.

Their little boy is on the way. There’s not a second to waste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	13. One-Hundred Ninety-Four: Volunteer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Easy, there, buddy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam and puppies, because we always need more of that content.

“Easy, there, buddy.”

Sam’s gentle when he scoops up the puppy, barely a few weeks old, and deposits him back into the little cuddle pile of his siblings. He doesn’t waste any time before snuggling in close and getting comfy, all thoughts of escape apparently gone for the time being. Sam smiles, soft when he looks at them.

He’s been volunteering at a local shelter for the past couple of months, and admittedly, it’s worked wonders on his mental health. Classes are stressful, his social life is stressful, and being separated from his small family for the first time in his eighteen years of life is very, very stressful. As it turns out, though, sitting next to a pile of puppies for a few hours every day tends to help with that.

They’re a little group of mutts, the puppies, but they’re all cute, just the same, and Sam is trying his damnedest not to fall in love with them. A couple have already found homes, and are just spending a few more weeks with their mother before being taken away, and Sam knows better than to get too attached. Not that it’s easy; looking at them now as they nap together, he wants to wrap his arms around the whole lot and keep them forever. It’s a familiar feeling from his childhood, and he welcomes it, even if he needs to restain himself a little.

They’ve got older dogs, too. A big lab rests by his side, blind in one eye but sweet and gentle. Her name is Daisy and he wonders, not for the first time, if he would be able to keep her in his dorm room without alerting the RA. For now, he has to content himself with visiting her here every day.

“You make stuff easier,” he’s told her more than once, and she blinks up at him before dropping her head into his lap. Sam just pets her for hours, feeling his blood pressure drop and his mind drift, eased of burden for a short while. “You’re a real sweetheart.”

Daisy never talks back, but Sam thinks he’s just fine with that. A million other things to think about and there’s enough rushing around in his head to fill the silence for the both of them, but he’s pretty sure Daisy’s the one with the right idea between them. Sometimes it’s nice to just relax; listen to the quiet sounds of fur shifting against fur when one of the puppies kicks in her sleep. He stares at the ceiling and picks out little spots of water damage, not allowing himself to stress about the mess that exists in every single part of his life except for this one.

Daisy’s right about a lot of things, he thinks. And besides all of that, dogs are just easier to be around than people.

He thinks he’ll stay here a long while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	14. One-Hundred Ninety-Five: Pretty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John looks across the table at his boys, and he does not see a pair of hunters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Sam and Dean are very pretty boys, and John is very distressed about it.

John looks across the table at his boys, and he does not see a pair of hunters.

It certainly isn’t for lack of trying. Dean bends over backwards constantly trying to impress him, and that’s exactly what he does: completing every training drill to perfection, always fighting to become stronger, faster, smarter. Sam’s grown to be a little more resentful about it, in recent years, but it doesn’t undo all the work he does; the research, the backup, the way he matches his brother step for step now that he’s growing into his lanky body. The both of them can hold their own in a fight, can recite the ways to kill a hundred different creatures, are even competent enough to hunt on their own, if he ever felt the need to allow it.

But when he looks at them- just looks, with his eyes- he does not see a pair of hunters.

Dean’s got it bad. He’s pretty the way his mother was; all big green eyes and fair skin, freckles that become more prominent through the summer. Lips like- lips like something no man should think of when he looks at his son. And John sees the way he tries to compensate, with the leather jacket and the macho act he learned from watching John, but he’s soft, too, on the inside. He doesn’t belong here.

Neither does Sam. Not with the long, piano-player fingers. The delicate bangs that barely hide his eyes; he got them from John, but he makes them look sharper and warmer than John could ever hope. Only fifteen, he’s still got that boyish quality about him, too; long-limbed grace and a coltish beauty that only comes with youth. And he’s got a fiery temper, but there’s a tenderness in him, too, something wholly good that always looks for the best in people, endlessly optimistic.

John sees the way people look at them. Men, women. Other hunters. Sam and Dean, they don’t fit into the rough-and-tumble, kill-or-be-killed world into which he has dragged them. Thy don’t belong in seedy motels and horror stories. Not his boys.

They’re beautiful, the both of them. Beautiful in a way that shouldn’t be tainted by this kind of life.

“Dad?” Dean pipes up, and John wonders if he’s been caught staring. His eldest looks at him with a hint of concern. Sam’s mirror expression is poorly hidden behind teenage sullenness. “You okay?”

John takes a deep breath and makes himself nod. These are the sorts of thoughts that he very much needs to keep to himself.

“I’m fine.” He picks up the menu and looks at that instead of the imploring looks he receives from his sons. The rest of the world starts filtering back in, the sounds of the diner around him pulling him back into the present. “Let’s order.”

They don’t question him further, and for that, John is grateful. These thoughts are not the sort he would ever care to explain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	15. One-Hundred Ninety-Six: Vice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How long had things been like this, Dean wondered? How long had he been so utterly unable to control his own impulses?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst. Dean-centric.

How long had things been like this, Dean wondered? How long had he been so utterly unable to control his own impulses?

He makes himself set down the tumbler in his hand, fingers shaking even as he forces them into a fist. A steadying gesture, maybe, but one that turns into fingernails biting into soft flesh, begging for some other outlet at the drink stares him down, waiting. A challenge, maybe. A command.

_Let it go, Dean. Just let yourself forget._

God, wouldn’t it be so much easier if he could?

He pushes the glass away too hard and it overturns, leaving him sitting on the kitchen floor with a puddle of amber liquid and a worsening headache. Sam’s bound to find him sooner or later, he’s sure, but it doesn’t seem important, no matter how humiliating it might be for his little brother to see him like this. He tries so fucking hard to pretend that he’s better than this, but sometimes the nightmares and memories become too much, and the stress piles up, and he just needs-

He  _needs_ -

Dean reaches up to dig the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to steady his breathing. It’s so easy, most days, to just let himself drown in this; drink and forget. It’s something he learned from an early age, and something that always, always works. At least for a little while.

He should know better, but here he is again, struggling in vain to fight against it. Maybe it’s a tiny victory to have held out as long as he has, but it doesn’t feel like one. It doesn’t feel like much of anything besides more trouble than this is worth.

Maybe Sam would be proud. Hell; maybe Dad would be proud.

That’s what pushes him to his feet, in the end. Leaves the spill right where it is and stumbles to his bedroom instead, because he needs to sleep this off. Nothing else is going to do it for him, not tonight, so he falls heavy in his bed and tries to block out the senseless noise of the world. Of the inside of his own head.

One day at a time, he thinks. One damn day at a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	16. One-Hundred Ninety-Seven: Night Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean spends probably far too long fussing with his brother’s shirt collar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brothers being small and cute.

Dean spends probably far too long fussing with his brother’s shirt collar. It looks fine, if he’s totally honest with himself, but it’s not  _just so_  and he knows he’ll never forgive himself if Sam doesn’t have a good time tonight. School dances are important.

“Dean,” Sam huffs at him, and he’s clearly getting fed up. He doesn’t make any move to pull away, though. “C'mon, we’re gonna be late.”

“Showing up late is fine,” Dean replies dismissively, not looking up. It’s on of his old shirts, carefully cleaned up and ironed flat. A light blue button-up. Sam looks cute in it, if a little small. “Showing up looking anything but awesome is not.”

He can tell that Sam’s making a face, but he falls silent, so Dean’s argument must have worked. A few more seconds, and he’s finished, anyways; the kid looks perfect, all dressed up and ready for the night. Beaming pride, Dean straights up, giving his brother a last once-over. “See? Now you’re ready.”

Sam’s very clearly fighting a smile as he looks down at himself. Dean can see that he’s nervous, but the excitement seems to overpower that. “I look okay?”

“You look perfect,” Dean assures him, and ruffles his hair for good measure. To his amusement, Sam goes right back to fussing with it. “Come on. Let’s get you over there, huh?”

Sam sticks close to his side as they head out to the car, and he’s already just about bursting at the seams with excitement. Dean doesn’t try to wipe the smile off his face, because he loves seeing his brother like this- all big smiles and a skip in his step. It’s endearing, and it’s one of the things he loves most about Sam.

“You’ll have fun tonight,” he says as he settles into the driver’s seat. He starts the engine, and Sam beams at him. “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	17. One-Hundred Ninety-Eight: Morning Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s hard not being in school anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weecest things.

It’s hard not being in school anymore. Not that Dean especially misses it; he can count his good experiences with the American education system on his two hands, and he prefers not to remember the rest. He’s content with his GED, and he’s happy to have left the whole thing behind him… except for the part where Sam’s not finished yet.

Sam still has to go through the same routine that Dean has known for most of his life: waking up early, eating breakfast, grabbing his bag, and heading off to endure another eight hours of learning. Sam doesn’t seem all that torn up about the whole thing- the kid’s always been a sucker for knowledge- but Dean isn’t terribly pleased with the fact that it’s eight whole hours a day when he doesn’t get to see his little brother. Not even once; high schools aren’t very friendly when a guy his age tries to poke his head in and say hello.

Eight hours a day. Eventually, Dean figures out just how to make up for it.

It does, unfortunately, mean that he gets to wake up just as early as Sam. Not that he bothers getting dressed; he’s content to stay in his boxers and leave his hair mussed as he trails his brother around the motel room. Sam seems more amused than anything else, talking idly about a paper he’s writing for history class. Dean’s listening with one ear, more concerned with appreciating every single second they’ve got together.

(So he’s a little clingy. Who’s counting, this early in the morning?)

It’s right when Sam’s set to leave that Dean moves in properly, though. Sees his brother right to the door and then pulls him in close, ignoring the little sound of surprise so he can lean right in for a kiss. It’s chaste, but slow, savouring every second that their lips are pressed together, and Sam- Sam doesn’t seem to mind, slowly relaxing as he leans into it further. Dean grins and lets it go on another few seconds. Just ‘cause. He knows he’s got no chance of talking Sam into staying home with him, so he needs to take what he can get.

When they break apart, Dean speaks, a little breathless. “Have fun at school, nerd.”

Sam rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning, cheeks flushed as he opens the door to head out. “Yeah. See you tonight.”

Dean throws him a wink for good measure, and watches Sam go until he turns the corner and is out of sight. Dean’s left with a heavy sigh, tingling lips, and eight hours to kill.

Eight damn hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	18. One-Hundred Ninety-Nine: Hickies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam likes to count the hickies he leaves on his brother’s skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wincest because it's important.

Sam likes to count the hickies he leaves on his brother’s skin. One at the base of his neck that Dad teased him about, thinking it came from some pretty girl. One that’s lower, right under his sharp collarbone, because Dean’s got freckles there and Sam is obsessed with them. One right below his ear that almost-  _almost_ \- hides in his hair. It’s one of Dean’s sensitive spots.

Right now, his lips are somewhere lower, working gently against Dean’s hipbone because it’s hot out today and his brother isn’t wearing a shirt around the room. It’s his own fault, really.

Not that Dean’s complaining. The breathy little sounds he makes don’t sound like complaints, anyways, and his fingers in Sam’s hair certainly aren’t trying to push him away.

“Jesus,” Dean mumbles, and Sam grins against his skin. He’s an expert at leaving marks behind now, and he won’t quit until he knows he’ll leave a bruise in his wake. “You- you’ve got a problem, you know that?”

Sam hums and nips at Dean’s skin, tightens his grip on his brother’s hips. Dean’s pretty like this, flushed all the way up his chest and struggling to contain himself. It goes to Sam’s head, knowing that he’s the one who can take Dean apart so completely. Cool, suave Dean, reduced to needy little whimpers and muffled curses as Sam works him over.

And seeing the marks he leaves behind- Sam likes that part, too.

Dean’s hip is marked red and purple when Sam pulls his mouth away, and he grins, track his fingertips over it when he sits up, as if Dean isn’t already begging for his attention again.

Yeah. The marks are his favourite part of all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	19. Two-Hundred: Homework

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean’s so tired that he feels like he’s on the verge of passing out. His eyelids are heavy, and every blink threatens to send him straight to snoozeville. By all rights, he should be sound asleep, curled up in bed and dreaming about the cute waitress from last week.
> 
> Instead, he finds himself hunched over a table with his brother, going over Sam’s homework.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soft brothers.
> 
> *throws confetti in the air* happy day 200!

Dean’s so tired that he feels like he’s on the verge of passing out. His eyelids are heavy, and every blink threatens to send him straight to snoozeville. By all rights, he should be sound asleep, curled up in bed and dreaming about the cute waitress from last week.

Instead, he finds himself hunched over a table with his brother, going over Sam’s homework.

Sam’s always been a bright kid, but he’s stubborn, too. When he hits a wall, he hits it hard, and it shows in the furrow in his brow and the frustrated set to his mouth. Dean’s doing his very best to be patient, one arm curled loosely around Sam’s shoulders as they go over it one last time. Just to be sure.

“Who even invented trigonometry?” Dean mumbles, squinting like it’ll help chase off the exhaustion. It doesn’t, and the lines on the page start to blur together. Probably not a great sign. Sure as hell isn’t making it any easier to figure out the length of the hypotenuse. “This is- this is stupid.”

On any other day, Sam would probably rattle off the name of whoever was responsible for this particular brand of torture, but now, he just huffs. “Stupid,” he echoes, and Dean thinks maybe it’s time they call it a night. “Really stupid.”

After a few more seconds of staring at the page, Dean shakes his head and shuts the textbook. Yeah. They’re done for now. “Look, you’re tired. I’m tired. Let’s tackle this one in the morning, kiddo, alright?”

And for a moment, with the way Sam’s eyes narrow, Dean thinks he’s going to protest. Instead, all the energy seems to seep out of him at once, and he slumps a little in place, sighing quietly. “Yeah,” Sam mumbles, and he reaches up to rub at his eyes, and Dean thinks it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen. “Okay.”

The two of them stumble to bed together, and within minutes, they’re both curled up tight, safe and warm in the dark. Math homework forgotten, Dean focuses on the blissful sight of the backs of his own eyelids, and the comforting knowledge that he can finally let himself drift off.

“Night, Dean,” Sam mumbles somewhere by his side, but Dean is too far gone to register it. He’s out like a light in seconds, off to see that waitress while he’s got the chance. No sense in keeping her waiting any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	20. Two-Hundred One: Lanky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam’s getting lanky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Affectionate brothers? Wincest? Who knows.
> 
> (Probably Wincest.)

Sam’s getting lanky. He’s caught right in the middle of a growth spurt, finally shooting up a few inches after years of being the smallest in his class, and Dean- Dean’s a little bit into it. Maybe it’s because it’s cute when Sam stumbles- poor kid doesn’t know what to do with all his new length- or because he doesn’t have to stretch up on his tip-toes to reach Dean anymore. He still looks like a kid, but he’s getting sharper at the edges, creeping towards late adolescence.

It doesn’t make him any less Dean’s little brother.

“Aren’t you a little old for this?” Dean asks as if he minds when Sam climbs right into his lap. Dean’s smiling, despite his words, and his arms go right around Sam’s middle, holding him close without taking his eyes off the TV. Sam doesn’t fit quite as neatly as he used to, but Dean likes having him here, just the same. “Lots of room on the couch, y'know.”

“So?” Sam isn’t one bit fazed by Dean’s teasing, and he’s not shy about making himself good and comfortable. Dean has to bite down hard on his lip, because- because Sam must know what he’s doing, with all that shifting around. He has to, with the little grin on his face. “I like this better.”

Dean huffs quietly at that, but accepts it, pulling Sam right against his chest until his brother’s head comes to rest on his shoulder. Sam’s hair tickles Dean’s cheek. Maybe he likes this better, too. “Yeah. Alright.”

Sam’s not watching the show that’s got Dean engaged, and apparently sees fit to entertain himself by pressing tiny kisses to every bit of exposed skin he can reach. It’s summertime, and Dean’s in an old t-shirt, leaving his neck and part of his collarbone open to attack. Instead of trying to make his brother stop, he tilts his head slightly, giving Sam a little more room to work.

“You like it, too.” Sam mumbles the words against his skin, and Dean grunts. “This. Don’t you?”

He doesn’t sound like he’s asking; he sounds like he knows the answer and he’s more than a little pleased about it. Dean sees no sense in lying, though he does squeeze his arms around Sam just a little bit tighter. “Only ‘cause you’re cute.”

Sam grins, and this time, he nips at Dean’s skin, quick and careful. Not quite hard enough to leave a mark, though Dean kind of wishes he would. “If you say so.”

They pass the time like that, Dean half-watching his show and Sam making it his mission to be as distracting as humanly possible. Needless to say, he does a damn good job, but Dean can’t say he minds all that much.

It’s kind of nice, being the center of Sam’s attention. He’s always liked that feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	21. Two-Hundred Two: Hospital

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hospital is big and loud and scary. All of the walls and floors are white, and it smells weird, and it’s cold, and it makes Dean feel like he’s trapped. Everybody around him seems similarly unhappy; people look sad or panicked or both, and it’s making it hard for him to breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was writing sickfic for another fandom, and it put me in a mood. Tiny boys and lots of angst.

The hospital is big and loud and scary. All of the walls and floors are white, and it smells weird, and it’s cold, and it makes Dean feel like he’s trapped. Everybody around him seems similarly unhappy; people look sad or panicked or both, and it’s making it hard for him to breathe.

None of that scares him as much as why they’re here, though.

Sammy has been coughing for days, big and loud and too violent for his tiny body. He cries, too, because it hurts, and he can’t breathe right, and Dad’s been trying everything to make him better. He’s told Dean so, because Dean can’t stop asking “what’s wrong with Sammy?” and “Daddy, help him!” And there’s nothing they can do, as it turns out, because now they’re at the hospital and the doctors have taken Sammy away from him and Dean is absolutely terrified.

Dad is holding him in his lap, because the last time Dean was on his own two feet, he tried to follow after the doctors who’d taken Sammy. He wants to see his baby brother, because Sammy gets scared real easy, and he doesn’t like being all by himself, especially not in a place like this. Even after one of the nurses had explained to him that “sweetie, you can’t be near your brother right now,” Dean had fought and screamed and cried until his dad told him they would have to leave if he couldn’t settle down. So now he sits quietly, head hurting after his tears and exhaustion threatening to overwhelm him. Dad’s arms are tight around him, a tiny comfort in the face of all the scary things going on.

“He’ll be okay,” Dad says quietly, and when Dean cranes his head back to look at his father- Dad looks scared, too. Quiet and sad and lost, sort of like how he looks when he talks about Mom. Dean knows better than to bring her up very often. “They’ll take good care of him, kiddo. Don’t worry.”

But Dean is worried. Dean can’t stop being worried, because he doesn’t know where Sammy is or what they’re doing with him, and he wants, more than anything, to be reunited with his little brother.

When a doctor finally approaches them- a familiar one; he’s got a big pair of glasses and short hair and he’s one of the ones who took Sammy away- Dean straightens up, close to scrambling right out of Dad’s arms before the grip tightens around him. “Where’s Sammy?”

“Dean,” Dad scolds quietly, but he turns his attention to the doctor, too. “How is he?”

“He’s stable.” The doctor offers them a tiny smile, and Dean’s not sure what that word means, but he doesn’t think the doctor would smile at them if it was a bad thing. “We’ve got him on fluids now, and he’s sleeping, but you can visit him, if you want. Just try not to disturb him. He needs the rest.”

Dad lets out a big whoosh of air, and Dean thinks he’s going to cry again. “We can see him?” But Dad’s already standing up, and all Dean can do is cling to him, eager to visit his brother. “Daddy?”

“Thank you.” The words are for the doctor, and then they’re moving, and Dean grips his dad’s shirt tightly, trying to keep himself steady. He can’t cry in front of Sammy. “We have to be quiet, Dean, okay? We have to let Sammy sleep.”

Dean nods without thinking about it, because he’ll jump through a flaming hoop if it means he can see Sammy right now. Soon enough, Dad’s pushing open a door, and inside-

Sammy’s sleeping. He’s on a bed that matches the rest of the white decor, and he’s wearing a little white outfit that blends in, too. There’s a mask over his face that looks too big for him, and he’s got some tubes attached to him, and it scares Dean. He doesn’t know what’s going on, and he doesn’t know what to think, and-

“Hey.” But Dad’s there, and he gives Dean a little squeeze as they move closer to Sammy’s bedside. “Deep breath, Dean. Easy. He’s okay.”

Dad sounds tired, but he sits down in a chair beside Sammy’s bed so that Dean can see his brother properly. Sammy looks pretty much the same, he decides, but the hospital stuff scares him and he doesn’t know what it means, except that Sammy’s real sick.

“Is that stuff gonna make him better?” he asks quietly, trying to make sense of the mess of wires and tubes.

“Yeah.” Dad sighs quietly, and his chin comes to rest on Dean’s head. Dean decides he’s comfy here, because he can’t disturb Sammy, no matter how bad he wants to crawl into bed with his little brother. “It’ll make him better.”

They fall into silence, and Dean focuses on watching the rise and fall of Sammy’s chest. In and out. Constant reassurance that he’s breathing, and that he’s alive. As long as he’s alive, Dean thinks, he can get better. That’s what he clings to, beyond anything else. Beyond all the scary hospital equipment and the white that surrounds them. Beyond the fear of losing one of the most important people in the world.

“We’re here, Sammy,” he says quietly, just in case his brother can hear him. Sammy doesn’t respond, but Dean continues, anyways. “You’re gonna get all better, and then we can- we can go get a treat. Whatever you want. Okay?”

It’s quiet, but for the beeping of the machines that are attached to his little brother, and Dean decides it’s enough of a yes for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	22. Two-Hundred Three: Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s hard, sometimes, to exist around Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write something about Sam being very, very desperately in love with Dean.

It’s hard, sometimes, to exist around Dean. Nobody is more familiar to Sam than his big brother, but there’s something entirely overwhelming about his presence; the warmth of his laugh, the way his smile lights up a room, the thoughtless touches that make Sam’s heart stutter in his chest. It’s a lot to deal with on a daily basis, but Sam lives for it, he thinks. For the little things that his brother does that make him exactly who he is.

And they are little things, most of the time. Like today, the two of them barefoot and bare-chested and lounging by a little stream out on the edge of town. It’s just them here, nobody around to force Dean’s walls up, so he’s softer than usual, smiling to himself. He hums when he settles down, laid out on a sun-warmed rock with one arm thrown over his eyes to shield them from the light, and Sam- Sam can’t stop staring. He thinks it’s wrong, maybe, to look at his brother this way, but-

Dean’s beautiful. Dean is beautiful by every possible definition of the word, and Sam can’t tear his eyes away. His skin has gone sun-kissed gold for the season, and his freckles are more prominent than ever; Sam counts them whenever he’s close enough to try. Dean’s hair has started growing out, too, and though Sam suspects he’ll cut it soon- Dad likes both of them to keep it short, and if there’s one thing Dean’s really good at, it’s doing as he’s told- but for now, he likes it. Wants to run his fingers through it, maybe, just to see the way Dean presses into the touch. He’s always been good like that, always receptive to affection.

(Another thing that Sam shouldn’t be thinking about Dean, probably. Right up there with how soft his lips always look, or how badly Sam wants to run his fingertips down the planes of his brother’s chest and lower, lower-)

Dean peeks out from under his arm, and Sam realizes he’s been staring. He still can’t bring himself to look away, though, especially not when his brother smiles at him, teasing. “Somethin’ on your mind, kiddo?”

Sam smiles, too, because his heart warms every time Dean talks to him like that. Like he’s somebody special. Like nobody in the world will ever mean what Sam does to him. “Just thinking about how you’re gonna burn again.”

Dean laughs and sits up, reaching up to smooth his hair out of his eyes, and Sam is struck once more with the impulse to reach out and touch for himself. He doesn’t think Dean would mind. “Then you’d better get me the sunscreen, or else you’ll be the one who has to deal with my whining, huh?”

With a fond roll of his eyes, Sam moves to join his brother, sitting down close because he knows he’s allowed and because he likes that power. He likes being so important to somebody so special and so good. Nobody else gets these same privileges. “Or maybe I’ll just leave you suffer. You’re funny when you look like a lobster.”

Dean gives him a nudge, and Sam takes the opportunity to shuffle a little closer. Just enough so their knees rest together; as suspected, Dean doesn’t seem bothered. “C'mon, you’re too nice for that. And I never look like a lobster. Shut up.”

The pair of them fall into a comfortable silence, and Sam goes so far as to let himself lean against his brother’s side. Dean takes it a step further and throws his arm around Sam’s shoulders; Sam’s heart nearly beats its way right out of his chest. He is so, so desperately in love. Close enough to the sun to hold it in the palm of his hand without getting burnt.

“Thanks for coming out today.” Dean speaks quietly, and Sam closes his eyes to listen to the way it rumbles in his chest. He likes being close; likes the feeling of Dean’s skin pressed against his as the summer heat hangs over them both. He would happily spend eternity right here. “S'been too long.”

That’s a conversation that Sam isn’t ready to have, so he tucks his face into his brother’s neck and just nods once, quiet. Focus on the good, he thinks. Don’t let anything ruin this day.

Dean allows him that much and doesn’t say anything more. He holds Sam close, and when the heat gets to be too much for them, coaxes Sam into the river to splash around for a while, like they’re little kids all over again.

It’s a perfect day with the perfect companion, and Sam couldn’t be happier. He doesn’t want anything more than this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	23. Two-Hundred Four: Rainstorm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They don’t make it to the car in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm wildly far behind on these, so... sorry to anybody who's subscribed.

They don’t make it to the car in time. The rain comes on hard and fast, and within seconds, the pair of them are soaked through. Dean’s laughing, because he’s crazy, and Sam’s got his arms over his head as if it’ll do him any good, but- but okay, maybe he’s smiling a little, too. Maybe just because of Dean.

The rush becomes less important now that they’re already wet. Both of them had hung around late after school, and apparently, they’re being punished for it. Sam decides he doesn’t mind too much, though. The clouds have been threatening to unleash a storm upon them all day, and now that it’s finally here- well, it doesn’t seem so bad. Even if his underwear are soaked.

“Hey. Sammy- hey. C’mere.” And Dean seems to be having the time of his life. Rain pounding down overhead, he’s got a big grin on his face, and when Sam looks his way, Dean’s reaching out and grabbing his hand. Sam finds himself tugged closer, stumbling right into his brother’s chest, and then- then their lips meet, messy and careless and tinged with laughter. Sam fists his hands in his brother’s shirt and smiles into the kiss, feeling like everything is good. Really, really good.

“Gonna need a shower,” Dean mumbles against his lips. “Wanna go home?”

Sam hums and doesn’t pull away, because past the soaked clothes, Dean’s warm to the touch. He’s always warm. “You sure you’ll let me in the car like this?”

Dean seems to consider that for a moment, then grins. “Maybe. But only ‘cause you’re cute.”

That gets Sam laughing, and they head to the car hand-in-hand. The rain’s not so bad, he decides. Not bad at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	24. Two-Hundred Five: Cozy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is sleepy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy baby things.

Dean is sleepy. He’s barely got his eyes open, resting on his tummy on the living room floor with his arms tight around his favourite stuffed kitty. She makes for a good pillow, and he doesn’t feel like moving. Not when he can take his nap right here.

He hears the soft rustle of socked feet against the carpet, and a moment later, somebody picks him up, holding him close. It’s Daddy, all big and warm and safe, and Dean yawns, not opening his eyes as he snuggles closer.

“All tuckered out, huh?” Daddy murmurs, and Dean feels himself being rocked. They’re moving, he thinks, upstairs towards his room. Taking his nap in bed sounds pretty good, too.

A moment passes, and Dean hears the door pushed open before they move again. Soon enough, he’s being laid down in his bed, and Daddy tucks him in, leaving him bundled up and cozy. He hugs his kitty tight and sniffles, already drifting off now that’s he’s here.

“Sleep tight, kiddo,” Daddy says, and he kisses Dean’s forehead. “Get some rest.”

The door closes again and Dean is left alone, and it doesn’t take very much time at all before he falls asleep.

Nap time is always the best when he’s cozy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	25. Two-Hundred Six: Nobody Else

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam can’t quite shake the feeling that something is missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An angsty thing that is very open to interpretation.

Sam can’t quite shake the feeling that something is missing.

It’s like some part of his brain is convinced that he left the oven on, urging him to turn back and fix whatever it is he’s left behind. He finds himself glancing over his shoulder constantly, a frown on his face despite his full understanding that the bunker is a safe place to be. He doesn’t hunt anymore, so there’s nothing that should be driving up his paranoia like this. He checks the wards constantly, mostly in the hope that it’ll distract him or settle his mind, but nothing helps.

Castiel looks at him sometimes like he’s sad. Like he feels guilty, maybe. Like he knows something Sam doesn’t.

“You need to sleep,” the angel tells him, but Sam just frowns, his eyes lingering on the empty chair on the other side of the table. Nothing about it feels right. It’s the same lingering discomfort that comes when he walks by a particular bedroom, just down the hall from his own. Or the car in the garage, passed down from his dad. It’s all just- it all feels-

He just can’t put his finger on it, and his head hurts when he thinks about it too hard. A warning, maybe, not to dig any deeper, and after everything he’s been through-

That doesn’t sit right, either. He can’t think about most things anymore without that same headache; that same confusion. Like everything is wrong. Different.

(A little bit empty, maybe.)

“Did somebody else live here?” he asks one day, because the answer is always on the tip of his tongue and it’s slowly driving him crazy. Castiel doesn’t talk much these days, but the question seems to catch his attention, because he stiffens up, and that speaks volumes on its own. “Cas?”

Castiel visibly takes a breath. “No, Sam,” he says in a perfectly even voice, and- and it doesn’t sound right. “Nobody else.”

Sam’s left feeling emptier than usual, and he stares at the wall long after Castiel leaves him alone. He stares as if something will appear to explain what’s happened; what’s vanished from his life to leave this gaping hole in his chest. It feels like it’s getting bigger every day. More painful.

“Nobody else,” he says to himself, quietly. “Nobody else.”

Maybe if he repeats it enough, the pain will go away. It’s the only option he’s got left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	26. Two-Hundred Seven: Stress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You alright?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pre-Stanford angst.

“You alright?”

Sam can’t look up, because he knows if he does, he’ll just meet his brother’s concerned expression, and it’ll continue to chip away at his resolve. He keeps his eyes fixed on the papers in front of him- homework; nothing vital, but he’d hoped it could serve as some distraction from his own mess of thoughts- and responds quietly. “I’m fine. Why?”

Dean’s quiet for a moment before speaking, and Sam hears him shifting around. He can feel the distance between them growing by the day, and knows that his plans are only going to make it worse. So, so much worse. He bites the inside of his cheek when Dean speaks. “I just… I don’t know. You seem stressed, is all.” He hesitates, and Sam squeezes his eyes shut. “Maybe you should take a break, or-”

“I’m fine.” Sam answers too quickly because he’s not ready for Dean to know. Not about the big, fat envelope sitting at the bottom of his duffle bag. Not the plans he has to run away so he doesn’t have to deal with the fallout that’s sure to come with this choice. “Just- just tired. I’m okay.”

He regrets it, because when Dean speaks again- he sounds more tentative. Sam knows he’s pushing his brother away, and he hates it, but maybe this is for the best? Maybe it’ll be easier on them both if they’re strangers. “I, uh- yeah. Okay, Sam.” A pause, and then, quieter, “sorry.”

Dean leaves him alone, and Sam’s left cursing himself, snapping his pencil in half before he even realizes that he’s clenched his hand into a fist. He has to remind himself that this is how things are going to be, from now on. When he finally leaves, he won’t have Dean by his side anymore. Maybe never again, if Dean takes it as hard as Sam suspects he will.

Better to get used to it now. No sense in lingering on something that’ll just be ripped away from him in a few short months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	27. Two-Hundred Eight: Overwhelmed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, it’s just too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just. A mood.

Sometimes, it’s just too much.

The world feels like it’s made up entirely of sound; a cacophony of noise that grates on him until he feels like his head is going to explode. People talking and laughing, traffic moving down the road, the endless bustle of any town they visit. It’s the touching, too, though; casual, friendly contact that comes from the people close to him, or the thoughtless brush as a stranger passes by. It all builds and builds, an overflow of stimulation when all he wants is to curl up in a ball and stop existing, and he just-

Dean closes his bedroom door behind him, a physical wall between himself and the rest of the world. It’s good at blocking out noise, and the air feels still here, like time has ceased to exist. Like nothing exists at all, maybe, outside this little bubble of peace.

Maybe he’s just getting too old. Whatever the case, he can’t deal with the world right now, and it’s only this tiny sanctuary that offers him a moment of reprieve from the growing pounding in his head.

After pulling on his pyjamas and crawling into bed, Dean closes his eyes, not particularly intent on sleeping. It’s nice to just feel the silence around him, letting it seep into his bones as if he can absorb the sense of stillness in the air. Like maybe it’ll work to calm the jumbled chaos in his head, too.

Sam doesn’t knock. The door opens just a crack and Dean doesn’t bother to open his eyes, breathing quietly. Maybe his brother will think he’s sleeping; even minor conversation sounds like too much for him right now.

“Dean?” But Sam’s voice is soft, and it doesn’t feel too terrible. “You alright?”

Dean considers staying quiet, but speaks up after a few seconds of pause. He doesn’t want Sam to worry. “M'okay. Just- tired.”

It’s almost the truth, and Sam seems to accept it as such. “Okay,” he says, and then, softer still, “I’m around. If you, um- if you need anything. Let me know.”

The door closes gently, and Dean is left to his thoughts once more. The quiet, once more. The stillness.

Maybe it’ll be best for him to fall asleep, at least for a little while. He doesn’t like needing this distance, and hopes the overwhelming nature of the world will pass quickly. He already misses the way that Sam’s voice makes him feel, and doesn’t want to be without it for long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	28. Two-Hundred Nine: Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam likes the way his hand fits around Dean’s throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :x hm. Asphyxiation.

Sam likes the way his hand fits around Dean’s throat.

It’s always in the quiet moments that it comes to this, when they’re both too deep in their own heads to make any sense of what they’re doing. When they’re too close, suddenly, no breathing room between them as their lips meet, and there’s that endless background chorus of “we shouldn’t, it’s wrong, let’s stop,” but it never quite breaks into the foreground. Not when Sam’s pressed right up against his brother.

Dean likes it, he thinks. He doesn’t say so- doesn’t tell Sam to cut it out, either, or smack him away, or bolt the way he does when things get too heavy- but Sam knows how to read Dean. He has for years; teases little secrets out of his big brother easy as flipping through a book. Maybe it’s because of the way Dean always opens up for him, all soft and pliant and trusting, but-

He can’t remember how it happened the first time. Just that between one moment and the next, he has his hand at his brother’s neck, and Dean’s breath hitched like a cornered animal, and his pupils dilated to match, and Sam-

Sam thinks he’s addicted.

They’re there again now. They’ve reached that perfect height of haze and pleasure where Sam can slip a little bit closer; can press his brother back against the wall and slide his hand up from Dean’s hip, up along his ribcage, up higher until-

“Just me,” Sam whispers when Dean freezes against him. He keeps his touch gentle, curls his fingers until he can feel Dean’s pulse fluttering under his fingertips. Too fast. “S'just me, Dean.”

Dean’s expression doesn’t change, except for some minute shift in his eyes. Something that goes loose as Sam watches, between one blink and the next. Dean’s pulse doesn’t slow down, and he’s still got that uncertain, needy look about him, but that’s something that Sam knows very well how to fix.

He keeps his hand right where it is, careful and soft. Dean’s lips part under his, and Sam sighs, pressing into it and letting himself enjoy the moment.

It’s tentative, this thing between them, and he doesn’t always know what to do with it. The feelings are too big, too much to swallow on most days, and he finds himself at a loss to explain the things they make him do, but Dean-

Dean’s pretty good at making him forget about all that. Nothing else matters when it’s just the two of them like this, and Sam does his best to remember that part.

The fragile skin under his fingers is a good reminder, and when Dean presses a little closer, when he whispers “you won’t hurt me, Sammy”- that works even better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	29. Two-Hundred Ten: Grown Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean says “you two play nice” when he steps out the door, and he says it like he’s joking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little Sam + John angst that didn't come out as incesty as intended.

Dean says “you two play nice” when he steps out the door, and he says it like he’s joking. With the look he levels at the both of them, though, Sam suspects he’s being completely serious.

Given the way he’s prone to acting around his father, Sam can’t entirely fault him for that.

Things have been rough between them since Sam was a teenager, and though it’s been drowned out in the last few hours by the joy of being together as a family once more, it comes back into startling focus now that they’re alone. Dean’s gone on a supply run and the motel room feels a lot smaller without him around to keep the peace. Dad sits at the table, quiet, and Sam figures it’s best to keep to himself. Dean will be upset if they fight while he’s gone, and what’s the use, anyways? It always just ends up with everybody hurting, and after being apart for so long-

“You got taller.”

But Dad breaks the silence, and Sam stiffens for a short moment. The words aren’t combatative, though. They’re soft, bordering on fond. Dad’s been this way since they met up, and it’s still throwing Sam for a loop; maybe the man is just nostalgic. Happy to have his sons back. Whatever the case, he can’t imagine it’ll last very long.

Doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy it in the meantime, though.

“Guess so.” He lets himself smile, glancing up and towards his father. Admittedly, it’s kind of nice to be back together. As much time as they’d spent fighting, and as desperate as he was to escape to Stanford… he loves his family. Dearly. He’s had Dean back for a few months now, but Dad’s been absent for years, and finally being back- it kind of makes him feel safe. “Or maybe you got shorter.”

That earns him a huff of laughter, and Sam feels warm with it. “Nah, you just finally hit your growth spurt. What’re they feeding you in California? Lots of spinach?”

“Something like that.” He stays quiet for a moment, just watching his dad. He looks older than Sam remembers, the lines in his face more prominent, the grey starting to show in his hair. It’s a quiet reminder of how much time has passed. “I grew up, Dad. That’s all.”

He doesn’t know why the words are hard to say, but suspects that it’s the same reason Dad sounds a little sad when he answers. “Yeah. I guess you did, huh?” He looks away and exhales, and Sam just keeps watching him. Waiting. He’s almost expecting his dad to pick a fight, but that’s not what happens. “Seems like you turned out pretty good.”

It takes Sam too long to respond, and he has to look away. Feels like there are tears trying to push their way out, but he swallows them down. Not now. “I, um- I guess so. Yeah.”

They don’t talk anymore after that, and Dean returns to the two of them sitting on opposite sides of the room, each absorbed in some semblance of work. Sam keeps his head down, and his brother doesn’t disturb him, and for that, he’s grateful. There’s still something heavy in the air, and Dean doesn’t ask about it, but there’s a worried pinch in his brow that makes Sam want to blurt it all out, anyways.

_You could’ve come by. You could’ve visited. I thought you hated me._

Instead, he swallows it all down and focuses on the work in front of him. Dad’s not going anywhere, and there’s lots of time to start a fight. Right now, they’ve got a demon to hunt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	30. Two-Hundred Eleven: Tension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something has changed in the air between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Wincest-adjacent angst at the start of season three.

Something has changed in the air between them. Something heavy, but insubstantial; something that Dean catches out the corner of his eye and tastes at the back of his tongue. Something for which he has no name, and something he prefers not to acknowledge.

He knows it’s because of the deal he made, and he knows that Sam can feel it, too.

There’s something about the ticking clock that makes it harder not to think about every single regret he holds onto, and the big ones- those all revolve around his little brother. Nothing else feels terribly consequential, but when he thinks about all the things that have gone wrong in his relationship with Sam-

 _Relationship_. That’s the word he always gets stuck on, because they’re brothers, but-

“You feeling okay?” Sam always sounds so tentative when he speaks, these days, and Dean wonders how fragile his brother thinks he is. Like he’ll shatter if Sam moves too quickly.  _Nothing’s changed_ , he wants to say, or maybe  _don’t look at me like that. Please. I need this to be normal._ Except that things  _have_ changed, and nothing  _is_ normal, and he doesn’t know what to do about it. Not with a handful of months left to tie up every loose end.

“I’m fine,” he says, and he flashes a grin that becomes less genuine by the day, and Sam never calls him on it. Not once. “What, something on my face?”

Because he doesn’t know what to do here. He doesn’t know how to make this feeling go away; this tightness in his chest that gets worse when he looks at Sam and that feels like it’s choking him when they get too close. This thing that lives inside him and makes it hard to so much as breathe in his brother’s direction, constantly afraid of something, something,  _something_ -

Sam’s not convinced, and it’s obvious in the pinch between his eyebrows. “You can talk to me. You know? You don’t- you don’t have to-”

Except that Dean  _does_ have to. Sam’s never been good at understanding that part.

“I’m fine,” he repeats, and he shrugs, and he looks away, because he can’t stand the expression on Sam’s face anymore. The worry. “Forget about it.”

Sam doesn’t forget about it. Neither does Dean.

It doesn’t do either of them any good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	31. Two-Hundred Twelve: Regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam thinks about the letter, sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU where Sam decided not to go to Stanford, after all.

Sam thinks about the letter, sometimes. The loopy font, spelling out the name of his dream school down south. His name printed neatly on the envelope; the “congratulations!” that had brought his heart right into his throat. He still remembers opening it; it’s impossible to forget the feeling that had surged through him when he’d realized what it meant.

He thinks about it even though he tries not to, because no matter how much he wishes he could just focus on hunting the way he’s supposed to, it keeps creeping back in.

Dean is happy to have him here. He was nervous after Sam’s eighteenth birthday; he kept quiet about it, but Dean’s always been an open book, and even in hindsight, Sam feels bad for causing him so much stress. When September came and went, there’d been a visible change; the tension seeped out of Dean’s shoulders until he almost looked like himself again. Sam’s happy for that much, at least.

He and Dad still fight. It’s hard not to; the man treats them like children and Dean doesn’t seem to have a problem with it. Sam figures he’s standing up for them both. What’s the point in staying behind if he’s not going to make something of it?

He thinks about that letter when his dad tells him to wait in the car and keep quiet, and he thinks about it when Dean looks away, silent and guilty. He thinks about it when Dean comes back bleeding, and when Dad doesn’t let them go to the hospital.

He thinks about it while he stitches his brother’s arm back together, fuming and terrified.

“Thanks,” Dean tells him quietly when he’s done, and he sounds gone. Like maybe the whiskey and painkillers have finally hit him; the look in his eyes say that he’s completely checked out. “For- for this.”

For this and everything else. Dean doesn’t need to say the words, but they still make Sam’s heart twist hard in his chest.

He thinks about the letter every single night before he goes to bed, and he wonders if maybe he made the wrong choice. If maybe he wasn’t meant to stay in this life, if he was meant for something more. Something better than the daily suffering and constant risk of death; the constant risk of losing the tiny family he’s got left.

He wonders if he shouldn’t have turned it to ash with tears on his cheeks. Maybe things would be different now if he’d kept it.

Maybe things would be better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


End file.
